


A Star In The Silvery Night

by Velvedere



Series: Voltron-Star Wars AU [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (I hope), Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force stuff, Intrigue, Jedi, M/M, Slow Burn, Trilogy, plot heavy, too much plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 09:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15771825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvedere/pseuds/Velvedere
Summary: Keith...hesitated, just for a moment...then reached out, uncurling his hand to touch his fingertips first to the smooth, cool surface of the tank. Then pressed the rest of his palm flat.He could feel the barely-there vibrations of the tank's workings. Smell the waft of kolto seeping through.Keith closed his eyes, and reached out with the Force.There was no slow trickle of memories and emotions. No hesitation of the Force in reaching back. It slammed into him. Filled his mind with flashes of pain and screaming and being strapped down to a table. Dark figures leaning over him.Keith braced himself before pulling away, breaking free with a gasp.His eyes snapped open, and he looked at the figure inside. His voice, when it came, was rasping and breathless.“We have to get him out.”*****Star Wars AU... Jedi Keith is sent out on his first mission. He finds more than he expected.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2018 Sheith Big Bang. So much thanks to my awesome artist, https://lijau.tumblr.com/ . Check out their blog!
> 
> Illustrations - https://lijau.tumblr.com/post/177304476412/keithhesitated-just-for-a-momentthen-reached and https://lijau.tumblr.com/post/177320999117/currently-shiro-was-hanging-upside-down-from-the

“...oh dear,” was all Alfor managed before he went down under a tide of rats.

“Master!” Keith shouted, and launched himself into the swarm. He didn't bother with the saber, landing instead fully immersed in the writhing mass of tails and teeth. Jaw tight, he slammed his palm hard into the ground, eyes shut as he felt a channel of concentrated Force energy flow through him, erupt around him, sending the rats hurtling away in every direction. Enough to clear the space so he could at least get visual confirmation of his master again.

Alfor blinked as he lifted his head, his hair a tangled mess. Faint trios of scratches decorated his face.

He grinned at Keith.

“You're getting very good at that.”

They positioned themselves back to back, sabers humming as they cut trails of golden arcs through the air. There was no end to the rats in sight. They crawled out through breaks in the overhead ventilation pipes. They swarmed up through water grates, bedraggled and wet. They came in waves but without coordination, seeming to rely on sheer overwhelming numbers more than the tactics of a unified pack.

It wouldn't have been so bad, if they weren't also the size of an akk dog.

“This is unnatural behavior,” Alfor said to him over his shoulder, having to shout to be heard. “Scavengers wouldn't outright attack like this, and any sensible predator should have been scared off by now.”

Keith grunted, deflecting the attempt of one rat to dive at his boot and slicing at another that leaped high overhead, the blunt side of his training saber knocking solidly against its ribs.

He growled.

“Maybe they're just really, really hungry.”

The smell of singed fur hung thick on the air. Keith could see the scorched stripes on the rats that had fallen, their fur blackened where his or Master Alfor's blades had landed a hit. The stun settings weren't enough to kill – there was nothing to be gained by the wholesale slaughter of creatures only acting according to their nature, Alfor had said, and Keith agreed...though now Keith found himself questioning the wisdom of letting so many aggressive animals continue to roam through the lower levels of Coruscant – but the bodies piled up nonetheless, twitching and foaming at the mouth until unconsciousness took them. Whether the rats knew their fallen comrades were still alive or not didn't dissuade them. They still came, crawling over the ones who had already gone down, not bothering to try and feast on those because – apparently – two Jedi still on their feet looked far more appetizing.

A twinge over his shoulder, and Keith flipped his saber behind him, cutting down another rat leaping at his back. He turned to look only after, and that was when he spotted the sewer line.

“Master!” he shouted, indicating with a nod of his head. “There!”

Alfor followed his look, and nodded.

They shifted to another stance, shoulder-to-shoulder, their movements and footwork coordinated without the need for speech or planning. Slowly, they let the rats drive them back, maintaining a wall of defense before them with sabers and sweeping gestures aided by the Force.

Keith held his jaw tight, his face set hard in a look of concentration, pushing thought from his mind and letting feeling and impulse take its place. Reaching for that level of immersion in the Force that would guide his movements without the need for sensory input. Letting him know without knowing that they were almost to the grate. That the next wave of rats would attack from the left. That Master Alfor was going to hold the ventilation fan still long enough for Keith to throw himself inside.

At just the right moment, right as Alfor turned, he sent one last pulse of a Force blast out in front of him. It knocked the rats back and gave Keith the few precious half-ticks he needed to turn and run headlong for the sewer line.

He leaped, diving between the fan blades held momentarily still by Alfor's grip in the Force.

He landed ankle-deep in a greenish-black sludge, its contents probably best not thought about, and glanced back to see Alfor stumble through – somewhat less gracefully – and land on one knee.

His hold on the fan released, and it went back to its blur of spinning. The rats piled outside, hissing and snarling and stumbling over each other. But they didn't chase after them, not quite willing to chance trying to get through the speed of the blades.

Keith helped Alfor up, who grunted a little, and did his best to brush away clinging muck from his knee and the edge of his cloak.

“Well, that's never coming out,” he grimaced.

“The Grandmaster did tell you not to wear white,” said Keith, with a sympathetic wince.

“Yes, well.” Alfor harrumphed and waved a hand in front of his face. “If this smell clings, there's no course but to burn the whole thing.”

It did smell pretty bad.

The direction of the fan spinning to pull air in from outside at least made it breathable, and cast a strobe of flickering shadows along the length of the pipe's massive interior as Keith turned to look further in. Sure enough, the pipe connected to another at a T junction just within sight, promising a route through the rest of the city level.

“Do you think this leads to the storage bays?” said Keith.

“Every tunnel goes somewhere,” Alfor answered, with a lofty sagacity. He deactivated his saber and clipped it to his belt.

Keith did the same, slinging his blade across his back.

Alfor drew forth a small datapad and activated a holographic map of the level. The system of sewer pipes lit up, and rotated slowly as it charted a path towards a single blinking dot in bright red.

Alfor pointed to it.

“The stolen shipment will be delivered here,” he said, “and if we follow this path...yes, we should be able to reach it. But we must hurry.”

Keith nodded, already turning to take point as Alfor closed the map and followed.

“Hopefully this way has less rats,” he mumbled.

“Possibly,” said Alfor. “Though it's just as likely something else has taken up residence here.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes.” Alfor returned a not-entirely-reassuring grin to Keith's frown. “There's really no end to the sorts of fascinating creatures one can find on these levels.”

Keith immediately sent a suspicious glare down the pipes, and decided to draw his saber again.

Just in case.

*****

They didn't encounter any interesting new life forms that wanted to eat them, but they did discover a variety of new smell combinations never before thought possible.

Alfor sniffed the air, and instantly recoiled, making a disgusted face.

“Hrnff. There's one. Smells of...hmm. Rotting fruit. And wet blast powder. Maybe just a touch of rancid putrescence.” He nodded satisfactorily to himself. “I think I shall call it 'frutrescence.' Named for the exact moment when that fruit forgotten in the back of the coldbox starts to leak.”

Keith nodded, and turned his head aside, sniffing the air much the same.

“Found one,” he said.

“Oh? What's it smell like?”

Keith thought for a moment.

Then he said: “Brown.”

Alfor tilted his head, his brow creasing.

“How's that?”

“I don't know. It just smells like brown.”

It was a pointless game, and one that would have gotten them both thrown out of the mess hall back at the temple, but that didn't stop them.

“Here,” Alfor said at length. He tapped the twin bright points of light that indicated their progress on the map. “This should be it. Look for an access hatch.”

Keith found it, pointing up ahead to a row of metal rungs forming a ladder.

The sealed hatch at the top was nothing Master Alfor's lightsaber couldn't cut through. It led up into a control station, its wall panels and read-out screens dark and cracked and layered with dust.

“Thank the ancients,” Alfor gasped, poking his head up through the hatchway and breathing in the drier, neutral-scented air. Keith knelt down to help him up, and Alfor immediately shed his cloak, letting it drop back down into the sewer pipe.

“Goodbye, old friend,” he said, mournfully, watching it go. Keith did the same, abandoning his heavy outer robe before resealing the hatchway.

Dust particles danced with a lazy energy through the still air of the control station, swirling into frenzied motion only when Keith and Alfor passed through. Keith went to one of the wall grates and peered out, squinting against the slats of dull orange light. A bit of working, and he was able to tilt the slats open to a wider angle, allowing a better view down into the storage bay spread out below.

It was mostly empty, anything useful this area contained cleaned out by officials when the station was abandoned long ago. Scavengers had seen to the rest. But the bay identification numbers were still prominently displayed upon the wall, the edges of the markings chipped and faded.

Keith read them off out loud.

“Well,” said Alfor, joining him in peering through the slats. “This is the proper location. Ah! And it looks like we arrived just in time...”

They both fell quiet. Movement stirred below.

From one end of the storage bay, a wide loading dock door groaned open with a strain of old gears. Several figures moved in, armed with blaster rifles. They spread out immediately in a practiced fan formation meant to secure the area, wearing the mismatched trappings of unfunded thugs, with just enough duplication in their outfits and motifs to identify them as all on the side same: a gang.

One of them gave the all-clear signal, and a larger figure moved into view, set apart from the rest by size and by stature.

The leader. A Houk.

Keith narrowed his eyes, noting that one among the smaller humans, Rodians, and Twi'leks.

Behind them came two more gang members steering a speeder attached to a hovering platform. It was loaded to capacity with crates.

On the other side of the bay – the side open to nothing but a vast metal canyon, so transports would have room to dock alongside it – a ship appeared, touching down just at the bay's edge. It extended a loading ramp and a cloaked figure marched down, escorted by a small squad of armed droids.

Even cloaked, Keith could mark her as a cyborg. Probably human, though the sheer amount of visible modifications didn't leave room for much else anymore.

The two sides positioned themselves to face each other at a healthy distance, and traded mutually disrespectful greetings. Keith could understand only a few words of Huttese in the Houk's growling, guttural speech, but the tone was clear. The cyborg stuck to Basic, and – from the sound of it – the intellectual high road.

“What do you think?” Alfor said quietly as the exchange began. Haggles over credit amounts and checking the condition of the merchandise. “Burst in at the proper moment? Or let them take the fight out of each other?”

Keith held his breath, reminding himself to think before he gave a direct answer.

“Both?” he offered, hopefully.

Alfor grinned, a certain gleam coming to his eye.

“That sounds like a splendid idea.”

Keith let out his breath.

Alfor turned his focus down to the exchange, listening to the tinny lines of dialogue from the cyborg. A moment's concentration, and he moved his hand in a gentle arc, murmuring just under his breath: “I'm going to pay you half.”

“I'm going to pay you half,” she echoed.

The Houk bellowed in outrage, a flush of red color decorating his face.

“Yes,” said Alfor. “The merchandise is shoddy quality, at best.”

“...shoddy quality at best.”

“I'd find better at a backwater market.”

“...backwater market.”

“Seems the cybernetics didn't come with upgraded logic circuits,” Alfor grinned aside at Keith, practically in giggles.

Keith didn't laugh. Alfor had always found mind tricks to be humorous. Keith wasn't very good at them. Trying to practice was...awkward.

Instead he kept his face set in an intense look of concentration as his eyes swept the storage bay, looking for any loose piece of debris.

He found one. A torn chunk of plasteel left abandoned near the docking side of the bay.

Keith closed his eyes, and moved his hand, sensing without seeing, almost able to feel the cold, hard metal through the connecting tendrils of the Force.

A flick of his wrist, and the piece went flying, striking against the side of the cyborg's ship. The storage bay rang with the unexpected noise.

Droids and gang members alike drew their weapons, lifting them, charged and ready to fire.

Accusations flew. Tempers flared. The tense energy was quick to boil over, and it wasn't long at all until one of the gang members open fired, knocking out a droid in a shower of sparks and exploding wires.

From there, blasterfire erupted, and both sides retreated to cover as they lost all pretenses and did their best to destroy each other.

Keith watched, grim-faced, wincing each time a blaster bolt found its mark and another body hit the ground.

“One would think eventually _someone_ would learn,” Alfor sighed as he drew his lightsaber. “Shall we?”

Keith didn't answer. But he nodded, and kicked out the grate.

They jumped down together, Keith rolling with the landed momentum to keep it going. Turning it into a run and then a leaping attack into the nearest gang member. They went down with a surprised squawk, not enough warning to even swing their blaster around. Keith took down two more and disabled a third, the zap of his saber's energy leaving them in a stunned state on the ground. Just like the rats.

Master Alfor held out his hand and pulled the blasters away from the cyborg and their droids, letting them clatter into a pile at his feet.

“Jedi!” one of the gang members shouted, turning to bolt.

“It's a set-up!”

“Scatter!”

“Oh, no you don't!” bellowed the Houk, who raised his rifle, aiming it Keith's direction. “Blast 'em!”

He fired.

Keith felt a sharp clarity in his thoughts, a snap of fiery energy in his body that made time seem to slow. Almost stop. Then the reverberations rang all the way up his arms as he swung and connected, striking the blast of energy with his saber. It flew back in the direction it had come, slamming into the barrel of the Houk's rifle. The Houk jerked with a startle as the metal seared and sparks flew.

He dropped it, stepping back.

He looked at Keith.

Keith grinned.

Then the Houk turned and ran, shouting for the other gang members to get out of there.

On the other side of the storage bay, the cyborg wasn't retreating. She issued a quick command to the droids, and like a single pre-programmed organism the droids lifted their arms, more blasters unfolding from hidden storage compartments.

“Kill them,” she growled.

Keith and Alfor looked at each other, and – with a similar synchronicity – took their sabers off of the stun setting.

The storage bay quickly lit up with the red and white flashes of blasterfire. Keith and Alfor danced through the bolts, blocking, deflecting, parrying them back. Alfor threw out his hand to send three droids slamming into the nearest wall while Keith rushed two more, leaping onto one to crush its chassis into the ground. Decapitating the other.

Wires frayed and filled the air with the smell of burnt metal. Hydraulic tubes spilled out onto the ground like guts, leaking their black fluid. There was no reason to hold back when it came to droids. There was no life there. No spark that Keith could sense snuffed out when it died. So Keith didn't hold back.

He landed his saber hilt-deep into a droid's chest, ripped it out, then threw it through the head of another. He sliced through limbs and bodies with the saber's unchecked energy as easily as cutting morning bread. He let himself feel the gyrations and malfunctioning twitches as their systems disrupted and shut down. A neck joint snapped through the Force with a twist of his hand. A dislocated arm still ready to fire its blaster crushed under his boot.

He felt it all. And...it felt...

It felt... _good._ Not the violence. Not the destruction. But the purpose. The sense of direction behind it all.

So many times back in the training rooms at the Jedi Temple Keith felt himself floundering for a decision. Stumbling and unsure when a master called him out in front of a dozen others to make a sound judgement in response to a problem. To come up with some clever tactic meant to trick. His words felt thick and useless, often dying the moment he uttered them, buried under a titter of laughter from the other students. Never mourned.

But in a fight, there were less questions. No time to overthink. He knew what he had to do, what was required of him, and the less he thought, the better.

He didn't have to think. He just had to feel, and let the Force guide him. Purpose in him like an edge, cutting as surely as his blade.

Do or do not.

Keith liked doing.

“Keith!” Master Alfor called his attention back, snapping back to the present. “Find the crate!”

Keith stopped, blinking, looking around him. Looking at the wreckage he'd made.

He winced, again, seeing the strewn body parts of droids across the floor and unable to help the comparison in his thoughts to the slain gang members.

“Keith, quickly!” Master Alfor called again, fending off the last of the remaining droids as the cyborg retreated back towards her ship.

Keith shook his head, and tore himself away. He hurried to the speeder, its cargo of crates partially unloaded to the floor of the bay, only a few lingering on the platform. Keith scanned them first with his eyes, their markings and system of numbers making absolutely no sense to him.

So he closed his eyes, and focused, opening his senses to the Force.

He turned his attention over each crate, one at a time. Feeling. Sensing. Putting forth no thought or judgement. Only receiving.

One crate flashed bright before his thoughts, like the snap of a glow rod.

“That one!” he shouted, and raised his arm behind him just enough to block a shot from one of the droids aimed at his back.

Alfor nodded, and sliced that droid's blaster in half.

“You know what to do!”

Keith raised his blade, and sliced off the connector at the back of the speeder that attached it to the platform. The speeder's engines had been kept running, humming quietly through the whole of the exchange, and it swayed a little as its hoverpanels adjusted to the sudden loss of weight. Keith then ran to the crate he'd picked out among the others, ducking and rolling through the lingering barrage of blasterfire.

The crate was waist-high to him, and at full capacity far too heavy to lift. But one hard push at the controls along the side activated the anti-gravity panels beneath, raising it off the ground. Keith swiveled the crate around easily, pushing it back to the speeder to dump it into its open back seat.

Keith shouldered his training saber and plopped down into the pilot's seat, once quick glance across the controls before he grabbed them.

The speeder's engine revved, and he shot forward, plowing down a few more droids on his way to his master.

The cyborg had reached the top of the loading ramp to her ship by then, and screamed a command into the exterior comm panel.

Both Keith and Alfor looked up to the sound of dozens of marching metal feet.

Even more rows of droids came filing out over the ship's ramp, their blasters already unlocking.

There were at least thirty of them.

“Oh dear,” said Alfor.

Keith adjusted the speeder's controls without stopping, his grip light and swift and sure.

“C'mon!” he shouted.

Alfor flipped nicely into the passenger side of the speeder just as Keith shot past...and just as the droids simultaneously open-fired, blackening the floor of the bay where they had been.

Alfor flopped down into the seat, panting for breath and laughing. He glanced back, his grin a triumphant one as he pushed loose white hair from his face.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” he said, grinning.

The grin died the moment he realized Keith was heading straight for the open edge of the storage bay.

Behind them the droids still fired, and the cyborg screamed frustrated commands.

Alfor swallowed against a very tight throat.

“Are you going to jump that?” he asked, in what anyone else would have mistaken as a perfectly calm, reasonable tone.

Keith leaned forward a little, the hard-set focus in his eyes, the intent in his posture, never wavering.

“Yep,” he said, before they shot out into the open canyon.

Later, Alfor would insist that he did not, in fact, scream _all _the way down.__


	2. Chapter 2

Keith fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe, rubbing the edge of it between his fingers. His arm held ramrod straight down his side. It was probably a vain hope to think the gesture was subtle enough to go unnoticed by the entirety of the Jedi Council staring at him, but that didn't make him stop.

Being the sole center of attention was...uncomfortable.

“And?” one of the masters said gruffly, prompting Keith to continue.

Keith took a breath. Swallowed hard.

“...and,” he said, doing his best to not mumble or stare at the floor as he spoke, “we were able to secure the shipment. We brought it back here to the Temple...”

“But you apprehended none of the criminals involved?”

Keith winced.

“No, master,” he mumbled. “Some of them were...shot...during the exchange.”

“Why isn't Master Alfor here making this report?” another of the council members asked, bypassing entirely that particular detail.

Keith squeezed his robe sleeve into his fist, holding it tight.

“He's...he wanted to study the crystal formations right away, He took them to his lab. He said...he would be here...right after...”

He trailed off under the weight of their expectant quiet. It made Keith's stomach roll, the way a few of them exchanged glances, exasperated and knowing and long-suffering. One of them rolled three of their six eyes.

“Of course he did,” they said dryly. “Master Alfor has developed a tiresome habit of consulting his opinion alone these days, and not the council's.”

Keith felt his jaw tighten.

“He'll be here,” he said through it. “He probably...found something important...”

The same master waved their hand, already shaking their head.

“Thank you for your report, padawan. We shall take your words into consideration when deciding how to proceed with this matter. Until then, inform Master Alfor that he will turn over the recovered shipment for safekeeping until such decisions are made. You may go.”

Keith did look at the floor then, deciding it was a better target for the harshness of his glare. He nodded his head.

“Thank you, master.”

He took a step back, bowed, and turned to go, his steps hard and stiff until he was outside the council room doors. A moment's delay, then they swished shut behind him.

Only then did he let out a long breath, his shoulders and neck sagging.

He let go of the death grip he had on his sleeve.

He'd been in one of his worse moods since before they got back to the Temple. Master Alfor didn't have to be Force sensitive to know that much.

“It was a successful mission, Keith,” he tried to reassure. “We recovered the stolen shipment. Now we'll be certain it won't fall into the wrong hands.”

“I just wish there had been another way.” Keith looked down at his feet as they scaled the Temple steps, guiding the hovering crate between them. “Those people...they didn't have to die...”

“Perhaps not. But those people also made their own decisions. They chose to be there. They chose to fire those blasters.”

“But...we helped...”

Alfor looked at him, sympathy in the deep lines of his face.

“We gave them a nudge. In the end, it was still their choice. The path that led them to that storage bay started long ago. Independently of us.” He put his hand on Keith's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “As a Jedi, I'm afraid you're going to encounter these sorts of situations. You will do what you can, but in the end, you mustn't carry the weight of those you couldn't save.”

It wasn't quite the comfort Keith was looking for.

He let himself breathe, closing his eyes, reciting the words of the Jedi Code to himself as he felt a waft of heat radiate over the back of his neck.

_...no emotion..there is peace..._

It helped. A little.

A few rounds in one of the sparring rooms would probably help more.

Keith drew some small comfort from the fact the Grandmaster hadn't been in attendance at the meeting. That would save Master Alfor some face. Of course he was excited about the recovered crystal shipment. Of course he'd gotten caught up in his lab and lost track of time and forgot there was a debriefing mission to be had. It wasn't the first time it had happened.

Or the second.

Or the sixteenth.

And of course the council was quick to judge and valued formality over everything else. They had to oversee the entire operation of the Temple. They had countless matters to attend to. They couldn't always be patient. Or understanding.

Still, it chafed against Keith's temper. He had to focus. Had to keep his own feelings in check, so his emotions wouldn't blaze out of control and cloud the rest of his judgement.

It wouldn't have been the first time that happened, either.

He breathed out, and brushed down his robes, moving away from the council room through the long, polished corridors of the Jedi Temple.

It at least felt good to be back. This time of day, at the height of the tower that housed the council rooms, the tall, arching windows lining the hall let in the golden glow of afternoon sunlight, suffusing everything in a warm, lazy haze. The gilding on the interior support pillars gleamed. The colors of a painted fresco on the wall shone bright from a recent wash. Mouse droids beeped and clicked as they went about their business, dodging around his feet even as he stood there a moment to decompress.

Taking the hoverlift back down to the main levels of the building felt like a return to reality, noise and voices and an endless flow of people there to greet him as the doors opened. Like being hit with a wall of life and bustling activity.

Built within sight of the Galactic Senate and in the heart of Republic space – in the very heart of Coruscant – the Jedi Temple was just as perpetually busy. Just getting through the halls away from the tower to start making his way toward Master Alfor's quarters felt to Keith like an exercise in endurance and dexterity.

He stepped aside, ducked, dodged, and maneuvered his way through the flowing rivers of people – Temple workers, agents from the Senate, guards, droids, diplomats – going a dozen different directions, each one of them far more important and busier than the last.

He chanced by a group of tourists going the opposite way, led by a droid whose speech recordings were so old they were beginning to sound scratched. The droid pointed out different areas and various points of interest around the temple with a bored recitation, and Keith just happened to glance over the same time a small Nautolan girl looked up to see him.

“Mommy mommy!” She tugged insistently on her parent's arm, pointing. “Is that a Jedi?”

“Yes, dear,” said the mother, shushing and pulling her child in close to her side. “Don't point.”

The girl stopping pointing, but she still stared at him, her wide dark eyes ready to pop out of her head.

Keith smiled and gave her a little wave.

She promptly turned and hid her face against her mother's hip, muffling her squeals.

After that, Keith ducked down a side corridor, where the passageways were less crowded.

That was where he spotted him – the Grandmaster – tucked back into an even smaller alcove usually meant to house large potted plants. Keith jerked back the moment recognition struck, throwing himself quickly out of sight, his heart speeding like he'd just been the one caught.

It wasn't that it was unusual to see the Grandmaster away from the more private towers of the Jedi Temple – he was usually the one down on the main level, giving statements to the media and posing for pictures, every so often speaking directly to a group of tourists and answering their awkward questions...despite his stoicism Keith was of the opinion that the Grandmaster actually liked it – but it was unusual to see him not alone. There was someone else there with him.

Keith crouched just a little, and leaned in as close as he could to the edge of the wall at the intersection, straining to listen.

If the great Grandmaster of the Jedi Temple could tell he was there, it didn't stop him from speaking.

“How long?” he was in the middle of saying, the low tone of his voice almost lost among the ambient noise of the Temple.

“Reports have been coming in,” answered the other voice, harsher, with a perpetual growl. “Not much weight to them...planets...supposedly stripped...sketchy at best...”

“...wouldn't be here if...thought it was nothing...”

Keith knew the owner of the other voice. Every Jedi on Coruscant knew him.

General Iverson, of the Grand Army of the Republic. That one-eyed, imperious countenance was the reason most Jedi lost sleep at night. Whether it was storming through the halls in person to burst in on a closed council meeting or arguing at monumental volume over a holocall with the Jedi about jurisdiction (sealed doors or not, the padawans could hear that territorial barking all the way to their bunks), General Iverson was the most frequent correspondence the Jedi had with the Republic military. And more than half the reason the two factions only reluctantly dealt with each other.

Iverson was the perfect embodiment of the soldier who didn't think they needed assistance from any sort of mystical power. He probably would have denounced any belief in the Force at all if an entire temple full of Jedi didn't exist right there on his doorstep. Even then, he made his dislike for their practices clear, and would go out of his way to make sure Jedi were kept out of Republic business as much as possible.

So the fact that Iverson was there, in person, speaking quietly and – civilly? – to the Grandmaster gave Keith a distinct impression of foreboding rather than hope for a reconciliatory future.

Iverson made a dismissive growling sound and waved his hand.

“...conflicting intel...didn't want the media...catching a whiff...create hysteria...last thing we need...”

“What...plans...have in place...?”

Something hit Keith between his shoulderblades. Hard.

He grunted, staggered by the numbing sting that promptly set into his nerves, making his muscles contract and spasm. He caught himself against the wall so he didn't fall down entirely, and snapped up his glare, over his shoulder in the direction the attack came.

“Hey!” he snarled.

Vipin Nath – another padawan – stood there in the corridor, surrounded by a pack of his usual cronies, smirking and smug.

“Huh. Didn't see that coming?” he taunted, resting the blade of his training saber over one shoulder, tapping it up and down. The energy cells on the blade were deactivated, but Keith could guess that hadn't been the case a moment ago. “Maybe you should go back to basic blaster class.”

The padawans to either side of him sneered and snickered at the jab. Nath tipped up his chin, watching down his nose as Keith pushed himself up.

“Some prodigy.”

“I'm not a prodigy,” Keith ground between his teeth, braced against the sting, straightening as much as he could.

“Yeah? Then what are you?” Nath challenged. “Besides a charity case.”

Keith glared at his eyes, challenging right back. With maybe just a bit of a smirk of his own through the pain.

“Better than you.”

Of course the cronies reacted, hissing and jeering and looking to Nath to see what he would do. Nath's face flushed with indignant temper, but Keith's glare didn't waver. He wasn't afraid of him. Nath had gotten him in the back while his attention was focused somewhere else. Any other time Keith knew he could – and would – toss him around a sparring room with no effort at all. He'd done it before on several occasions.

In fact he'd done that to pretty much every student at his level. And even some of the higher ones...

Probably why Nath decided to target him with most of his bullying.

Keith knew how this went. Nath would shove him. Keith would shove back, because he couldn't just do nothing. Nath had his followers and cronies so he wouldn't back down from any sort of challenge Keith presented, lest he look weak in their eyes. It would come to a fight, and Keith would win, but...not in respect, or in gaining any friends out of it himself. It would merely reinforce the opinion of what they already thought of him.

Dangerous.

Nath stood tall, gripping his saber. Looking down at him with his teeth bared in a sneer.

“Oh yeah?” he growled. “You wanna go?”

Keith felt the knee-jerk reaction deep in his gut. The urge to snarl an affirmative and let him have it. He didn't even have his training saber with him, but that didn't matter. He would still win.

It would be so easy to wipe the floor with Nath's smug face. Break his teeth against the wall. He could feel it in him, the power building. Red hot coals in his gut. The taste of anger sharp and acidic in the back of his mouth...

Keith clenched his fist tight and drew in a deep breath, holding it, clamping down on those feelings.

_Fear leads to anger..._

He lowered his head, dropping his eyes to glare a burning hole in the floor.

Nath's pack wasn't satisfied with that at all. They pushed at Nath's shoulders, urging him to go on. Teach Keith a lesson. Show him up. Nath looked satisfied enough with Keith being the first to look away, but his social standing couldn't rest with just that. Not in front of the others.

He unshouldered his training saber and was going to at least leave Keith with another stunning jab to the chest – Keith could read it in his stance – and Keith was going to let him, until the Grandmaster abruptly stepped into view around the corner of the intersection.

Tall. White-furred. With a barrel voice to match his leonine features. Gold eyes took in the sight of the padawans with a dubiously arched brow, and his tail flicked once behind him.

“Is something wrong here?” he rumbled, with a distinct tone that suggested he already knew perfectly well what was going on here.

The pack of padawans instantly stepped back and stood to attention. Nath lowered his saber down to his side.

“N-No, master!” he said, clearing his throat. “Nothing wrong.”

He even offered his hand out to help Keith up off the wall. Keith didn't take it, pushing himself back to stand under his own power, his back finally unlocking from its cramp. He rubbed his palms down along the edge of his tunic to smooth it self-consciously, and glanced up under the messy fall of his hair, just enough to catch the Grandmaster's eyes.

Then Keith promptly looked back down at the floor.

“Good,” rumbled the Grandmaster. “Then if all is well, perhaps you students should move on. The droids just finished polishing this corridor.”

“Y-Yes, master.”

The padawans dispersed, splitting off quickly down the various routes of the hallway.

Keith lingered, one of the last to go, waiting to see which direction most of them took so he could choose another. He passed by Nath, who left him with a parting gift as he stuck out the blade of his training saber near Keith's boot, causing him to stumble.

Keith didn't say anything. Just walked away faster, his head bowed low. 

He could feel the Grandmaster's eyes on his back as he went, and hear Iverson's disapproving sigh as he stepped into view at the Grandmaster's side, watching them all and shaking his head.

“Worse than brand new cadets...”

*****

Master Alfor's laboratory was attached to the Temple, built on the same level that housed the archives. It was really meant to be a place for all of those who studied there, but since his arrival Master Alfor had taken it upon himself to use the lab and Temple's resources extensively to further expand his already considerable studies and knowledge into the sciences and Force alchemy. Anyone else attempting to do the same – even independently – found themselves cajoled into joining him or, in some cases, outright volunteering. Won over by his sincere, enthusiastic drive and earnest dedication. Now he more or less ran the whole thing.

The lab was empty except for Alfor and a single droid assistant when Keith arrived, still rotating some stiffness out of his shoulders. The soft, ambient light and steady hum of machinery was a soothing calm after the noise of the Temple. Keith moved in slowly, glancing aside to the latest array of experiments and samples spread in neatly ordered chaos across every available counter and tabletop, careful to keep his hands tucked in close to himself.

“Why did the council agree to allow tourists inside the Temple?” he asked Alfor, once he was close enough to not have to raise his voice.

“A tragic malady the Jedi must suffer during peacetime,” Alfor answered without looking up from the technological contraption over which he bent. “Also because to accept funding from the Republic would create a political bias, and the Temple can't subsist on donations alone.”

It sounded as plausible as anything to Keith. He stood for a moment where he was, just off to one side, watching his master. Alfor didn't look up, focused entirely on his task, which seemed to involve making minuscule adjustments to whatever piece of equipment he currently had running. Keith had no idea what it was, other than it involved placing tiny chunks of red crystal into tubes and filling it with some kind of liquid, then looking at the results through a projected magnifier. A monitor to one side displayed a scroll of information that made zero sense when Keith tried to read it.

Now and then Alfor would hum, or mutter the word “interesting.”

“I gave the council a report on the mission,” Keith mumbled, helpfully. “They...were wondering...where you were.”

Alfor hummed again, but didn't otherwise respond.

Keith sighed, and glanced away, towards one of the work tables. He recognized the crate set beside it as the one they'd retrieved from the storage bay on the lower levels. Its top had been opened, and now sat askew, while around its base and strewn across the adjacent table were dozens upon dozens of a variety of crystals.

Well, a variety in size. They were otherwise the same hexagonal shape and color.

They were all red.

Keith frowned. He knew they'd been after a stolen shipment of crystals. The reports hadn't said what kind – khyber, adegan, eralam, bondar – but they resonated in the Force. It was how Keith had been able to single out that crate in particular among so many others. But he'd never seen so many at once before that looked so identical. They must have come from a huge cluster...

“Aha!” Alfor suddenly shouted, startling Keith out of his thoughts. “That's it!”

He waved Keith over excitedly.

“They're mass-produced!”

“Huh?”

Keith went, folding his arms close to himself, blinking a little in a complete lack of comprehension. Alfor still ushered him forward and pushed him in front of the magnified projection, pointing to a close-up of what was supposed to a cross-section of the crystals' interior.

Or so Keith deduced.

“This is a cross-section of the crystals' interior,” Alfor said, as bubbling and giddy as a child with a new pet. “This side is from the shipment we recovered, and this side...” He indicated a paralleled view. “...is from another crystal we already had here at the Temple. Note the difference?”

Keith noted the difference, but Alfor didn't stop long enough to get a word in.

“The structure in the old crystal is naturally occurring. It possesses several, near-imperceptible variations to its form, as conditions and surroundings invariably change over the slow course of its growth. This is the sort of crystal one would find in an excavation. Those tiny changes and variations in its structure are what cause the clusters to be varied in height, shape, even color.”

He went back to the other cross-section.

“But this crystal! Look at its consistency! The absolute uniform structure of its makeup! These crystals are all identical! They were formed, very quickly, in unvarying conditions!”

“O...kay?” said Keith, his expression still blank.

Alfor's delight was radiant, his grin spreading from ear to pointed ear.

“They were made deliberately! In a lab!”

Keith waited a beat, and when Alfor didn't continue, asked: “Is that good or bad?”

“It's _interesting_.” Alfor turned his gaze over towards the crate, and held out his hand. One crystal rose up into the air and drifted towards them. Alfor caught it, and pressed it into Keith's hands. “Keith...creating crystals artificially in controlled environments is nothing new. Planets all over the galaxy have been doing it for ages. But these...! Keith...!” He leaned in close, closing Keith's hands around the crystal, as if to lend further weight to his theory. “These resonate in the Force! You sensed it, didn't you? You can still sense it...”

Keith looked down at the crystal, just transparent enough he could see his fingers wrapped around where he gripped it. A fortunate thing, since any more saturated and the color would have made him think of fresh blood.

He concentrated for a moment, focusing down upon it.

It definitely sensed of the Force. As strong and vibrant as any other crystal he'd come into contact with. It didn't feel...unnatural in any way? No strong leanings towards either the light or the dark side. Keith turned it over in his hands as he studied it, tracing his fingers along the sharp edges of its shape.

It felt like a normal lightsaber crystal.

“So,” he ventured, looking back to Alfor. “Someone is...making lightsaber crystals?”

Alfor beamed.

“Yes! Someone...somehow...is not only able to artificially produce the Force in such a strong quality in these crystals, but is able to do it on an impressive scale.” He gestured to the crate, packed to its capacity. “Do you have any idea how long Force alchemists have been attempting to do that very thing?”

Keith guessed it was a long time.

“But...why is that so difficult?” he asked, following Alfor back to the machine at his workspace. Its projected readout which may as well have been gibberish. “The Force is everywhere. In everything. Isn't it?”

“Of course,” said Alfor, a little calmer now that he'd gotten the initial excitement out of his system. His eyes still gleamed in the green glow of light as he scrolled through the readout. “In the most basic of terms, it's an energy field, generated by all matter. But it's _more_ than that, Keith. The Force isn't quantifiable. Scientists and sages alike have been attempting to pin down what exactly the Force 'is' ever since we became aware of its existence. But they've never succeeded.”

“Until now?”

“Until now.” Alfor gestured to him. “You're holding the proof in your hands.”

Keith looked back down at the crystal, suddenly holding it with a lot more care.

“Then...that's a good thing, right?” He tried to sound hopeful. “More lightsaber crystals means we don't have to go out and get them anymore. We can just make them here. Right?”

“Perhaps.” Alfor glanced away, briefly hiding his face. His tone turned several degrees more sober. “But one can't help think of the many other applications such knowledge may have.”

Keith blinked.

“Like what?”

“Crystals occur naturally all over the galaxy,” Alfor explained. “Some are resonant in the Force. Some are not. Those that are have much more inherent value, and just so happen to be the ones that are harder to find. Anyone who can create mass-produced artificial Force crystals of equal quality could command quite the market, if they decided to do so.”

Keith frowned.

“But more than that, people occur naturally all over the galaxy as well. Some are sensitive to the Force, but most are not. It's a rare quality for a person to have, but should someone find a way to imbue that quality artificially...let alone on a massive scale...”

Alfor didn't have to finish. Keith's expression drained of all color. A chill swept up his back, settling into the deepest parts of him with a leaden fear.

He gripped the crystal tight.

“The council wants you to turn the crystals over,” he blurted, if nothing else than as a means to change the subject. “For...safekeeping. Until they can decide what to do with them.”

Alfor sighed, shaking his head.

“Of course. Of course they do. Let a discovery like this be buried in a lockup so it won't cause a fuss.”

He turned to look at Keith, apology and reassurance in the deep lines of his face.

“Forgive me. That was overly harsh.” He patted Keith's shoulder as he brushed by him. “I'll speak to them on the matter. I think this bears investigating. Whoever made these crystals – and how – requires a scale and knowledge of Force mastery that should not be ignored.”

“I'll help you clean up,” said Keith, and reached out to place the crystal he held back among the rest.

Alfor caught his hand, and pushed it back.

“Keep it,” he said, and added with a wink: “No one will notice if one little crystal is missing.”

Keith's eyes went immediately wide.

“What—?”

“Your trials are due to take place soon, are they not?” Alfor hummed, perfectly innocent as he moved about the lab, cleaning up a little and putting things back into place. “Everyone knows you'll be going through them ahead of schedule. You'll need a crystal if you're going to build your own lightsaber.”

“But—!” Keith still sputtered. “It's...! That's not the way it's supposed to happen? Part of the trials is to find a crystal on your own...one that calls to you...”

“You found all of these crystals perfectly well on your own. And you were able to pick them out from among a dozen other crates.” Alfor grinned, his smile a knowing one. “I should think that counts.”

Keith didn't know what to say. He stared at him, his jaw slack, as Alfor clapped a hand onto Keith's shoulder, squeezing and smiling even more broadly.

“Now, let's get the rest of this mess cleaned up.”

He patted Keith's shoulder as he let go, turning away to his task.

Keith lingered where he was, stunned, his mind still struggling to come to grips with what just happened. He looked down at the crystal still in his hands. He kept looking at it, turning it slowly in the light, until one facet of its edge caught, flashing a brilliant red-white.

Keith gulped.

He had a bad feeling about this.

*****

Elsewhere in the galaxy, far away from Coruscant on a darkened planet, a battle took place.

In it, a lone figure, already ripped and torn, staggered as he strove to fend off a circle of beasts that had him surrounded.

Their teeth were sharp.

Their claws were swift.

Their tails lashed, cracked like whips to knock him off his feet when he wasn't fast enough to avoid them.

He spun, and slashed back where he could, his only defense a purple glow that left long trails of light through the dim.

Two figures watched his progress on a series of monitors, their faces equally dispassionate and appraising.

“Better,” one of them said, small and hunched with a voice like the wind over dead leaves. “This one is showing promise.”

“But still not where we need to be,” said the other, an immovable wall in will as well as stature.

“There is time,” said the first, watching the monitors as the figure fell under one of the beasts. The purple light of his weapon rose, driving into the creature's skull. “The experiment grows more successful with each test. Have patience.”

The other growled, but didn't respond. Together they watched the final struggles of the figure on the monitor, having dealt with the last of the beasts. He collapsed to his knees, panting, heaving for breath, sagging forward as a cry spilled from his throat and tears sprung at his eyes.

The audio feed on the monitors was disabled. Neither of them heard it.

The purple light flickered and went out.

“Assess the damage,” the larger of the two growled into a comm panel. “Then put him back in the tank.”

“What of the arm?” the other rasped.

“Destroyed.”

“Hmm. Pity. Have it removed and we'll replace it with the next upgrade.”


	3. Chapter 3

Keith was up early the next day to do some sparring practice in the gardens.

The Jedi Temple was equipped with a number of sparring rooms – designed with a variety of built-in obstacles to overcome, and reinforced scorch-resistant walls to catch stray blaster bolts – but the chance of running into other students there to train even early in the morning was high. Keith preferred the gardens.

They were quiet. And calm.

And, more importantly, they were empty.

Keith had tied a blindfold around his eyes, but he could still smell the sweet bellflowers that grew there. The Ithorian roses and kubari plants. He could still hear the faint trickle of water from the garden's irrigation system – designed to appear as a small stream that wound its way through the grass – and still feel the warmth of the diffused light that filtered down through the cloudy panels overhead, keeping the gardens perpetually even-temperatured and bright.

He could still sense the location and movements of the small hovering droid he faced, armed with its tiny blasters. It spun around him and fired in random patterns and Keith's training saber was quick and precise as he blocked and defended, now and then lunging forward to land a counterattack against its sensors.

Keith had heard the theory from those outside the Temple that fighting blindfolded was meant to dull one sense so the others would be heightened. So that one would have to think more in order to be able to fight.

But, really, training like this was meant to be the opposite of that.

Keith was supposed to not think. He didn't want to think. He was supposed to feel, to let go of distracting emotions. To lose himself in the Force without any press or judgement of his own and let it move him. So long as he trusted it...didn't question...he would always find his target.

Sometimes, if he reached deep enough, it felt less like a fight and more like a dance with the universe. So many working parts, constantly moving in and around each other, of which he was just one. Every step, every breath, every turn one continuous flow in a series of never-ending reactions.

Everything was connected. Everything was the Force.

If he'd truly wanted deprivation of sense, he could have gotten one of the training helmets from the sparring rooms, which would have also muffled his sense of hearing and smell.

But he liked the gardens. They were peaceful. He wanted to keep those senses open and focus on the natural harmony around him, rather than inner frustrations that had to do with fellow students or the council or the memory of dead bodies strewn across the ground...

Something...twinged?...on the edge of his senses, distracting Keith enough that the droid managed to land a hit.

He dropped to one knee, hissing between his teeth at the sting that ran up his leg. Keith pushed up his blindfold and glared at the hovering droid, who he could swear among its interior clicks and whirrs was snickering at him.

“Cancel sequence,” he growled, and the droid went still.

Keith shut off the energy to his saber, and set it down on the grass, looking aside where his senses drew him.

He wasn't alone.

His eyes grew wide, and he stared as a...blue...lion?...stepped out softly from a thick patch of reeds along the streambed.

Its steps didn't make a sound. Its breathing was a low, soothing rumble deep in its chest. It crouched at the stream and bent its head down as if to drink, though it only sniffed at the water, its tail swaying idly back and forth behind it.

It didn't exactly glow, but somehow radiated against Keith's senses so strongly that he couldn't look at it without mentally squinting. Like trying to look too closely at a star. But he couldn't _not_ stare, forgetting to breathe, awed by the sheer vibrancy of its cerulean fur.

Then it looked at him, a majesty and presence in its eyes that made Keith feel very, very small.

It licked its lips, and its fur rippled, flickering into hues of different colors. Red... Yellow... Green... Violet...

Keith blinked, and then it was gone, leaving him alone with the sound of trickling water.

*****

He hurried to Master Alfor's lab to tell him about the vision, but didn't make it two steps inside the door.

“Mas—”

“Keith! Wonderful news!” Alfor greeted, his morning energy incorrigible. Beaming bright. “I just received approval from the council to investigate the matter of the crystals!”

Keith stopped where he was, and blinked at him.

“Oh...”

“Get your gear together!” Alfor ushered him out of the way as he moved about the lab, gathering together what looked like supplies and equipment for himself. “It took some persuasion, but after offering the evidence we gathered the council agreed that this is a matter worth looking into. It's reassuring to know they haven't completely tossed the value of science and alchemy aside.”

Keith nodded, and decided to keep the vision to himself for now.

“I have a contact who I believe should be able to track the shipment we recovered. Illegal as it was,” Alfor went on. “It hardly went through any official documenting process, but...there are ways around such things. We must act quickly, though. Time is often of the essence.”

Keith nodded, listening attentively.

“So we're leaving right away?” he said.

There, Alfor paused, hesitating halfway through putting something away onto a shelf. He completed the gesture with a slow, considerate care, and glanced aside so his face would be partially hidden as he spoke.

“Actually, Keith...you're going to have to do this one on your own.”

“What?” Keith started a little, feeling himself tighten. “By myself?”

Alfor lifted his face back to him, and it was the picture of a perfectly confident smile.

“You're more than capable. I have no doubts. You're far beyond the other padawans at your level in terms of skill. It's time the rest of the Temple recognized that. Even moreso, I'm sure the council will consider this a large step towards earning your knighthood.”

“But...I've never done a mission on my own. I've never even been off Coruscant!”

“A perfect time to do so?”

Keith frowned hard at Alfor's back as he turned away to continue milling about the lab. There was something Alfor wasn't telling him. Maybe because he wouldn't look at Keith. Maybe because his smile felt a little strained. Maybe it was just a feeling.

“Is that really why you're not going?” Keith asked, quietly.

Alfor paused again, and sighed. This time he turned around to face him with his real expression: proud, fond, but apprehensive. A touch rueful. He leaned his weight back against one of the countertops, letting his hands come to rest.

“I really should know better than to try and keep things from you,” he said with a soft chuckle, shaking his head in self-deprecation. “No. The truth is, Keith, that an urgent matter has arisen that requires my presence back home.”

“On Altea?” Keith brightened. Alfor didn't speak of his home planet very often, but it delighted Keith every time he did. The affection in his voice and the simple joy in his eyes. The way his body seemed to unconsciously ease when thoughts drifted that way. It was the closest thing Keith could imagine to what love looked like.

Master Alfor had a home. One he kept in contact with, and even went back to every so often. It wasn't completely unheard of among the Jedi. Attachments were discouraged – forbidden, really – but sometimes circumstances arose where it couldn't be helped. Keith had heard of rare male Cereans who joined the Order, but whose presence was often required back among their own people just to keep their species populated.

Keith didn't think that was the case with Alfor. He didn't know the details, but he liked to think Master Alfor was someone very important back on his own planet, to be still so connected to it. Someone high up in government. Maybe even royalty.

Alfor nodded.

“I'm afraid it's a matter that may keep me longer than usual, but that will give you plenty of time to complete your mission.”

“Is it bad?” asked Keith, looking to Alfor's eyes for a hint of what lay behind.

Alfor just laughed, and grasped Keith into a hug around his shoulders.

“Oh, the absolute opposite, I'm afraid. It's one of the best things that could happen to any being in the galaxy!” He leaned in close, lowering his voice. “We'll still be in contact while we're both away. Once you're sufficiently far from Coruscant I may even break protocol and tell you what it is.”

He poked Keith a little in the chest. Keith wondered if the offer was supposed to be some kind of motivation.

Keith smiled regardless, looking up to him.

“Well, hurry along, then!” Alfor gave him a nudge towards the door. “I've already made arrangements for your travel. The ship I hired should arrive at the upstairs hangar in just a few hours...”

*****

“Subject 117-9875, test run sixteen.” The bent and raspy figure watched across the monitors as the lone subject upon them, trailing purple light, worked his way steadily through the path of an obstacle course.

His progress was undeniable. The upgrades to the arm's design improved drastically with each model. Still, the figure's eyes narrowed, recording notes in a sour tone as they watched the subject fight his way through a series of traps and challenges. Dodge and roll through a shooting range. Cut himself out of a sealed room quickly filling with water.

“Subject continues to display peak physical performance in all categories,” the figure said, with a weary monotony. “But any demonstration of Force ability remains passive. Reaction times to external stimulus suggest subconscious use. Test runs seven and fourteen contain evidence of temporary physical enhancement, but results remain inconclusive.”

The figure continued to watch as the subject attempted to cross an electric grid. Any pressure of weight on certain sensor pads sent a jolt of it up from the flooring. Upon triggering one the subject staggered into another. A denser patch. He collapsed, writhing as the bolts and sparks of light arced over his body.

Suddenly he threw out his hand.

A portion of the metal floor plates crumpled. Peeled back. Then went flying across the room to collide with a wall.

The figure raised an intrigued eyebrow while the subject collapsed, catching his breath.

“Interesting.”

They marked the event on the recording's timestamp.

“Perhaps the subject just needs greater motivation...”

*****

Keith stood in the hangar bay near the top level of the Jedi Temple, taking a series of deep breaths.

He wasn't nervous. He was...determined.

It was his first mission. Off-planet. On his own. He couldn't afford to let doubt or worry about what could go wrong creep into his thoughts and disrupt his resolve. He had to be clear-headed. Precise. Confident. Everything a Jedi was supposed to be.

Keith closed his eyes and crossed his arms, taking another deep breath to hold it.

“Track down the source of the crystals. Assess the situation. Find out how they're being made and, depending on the parties responsible, offer an invitation to the Temple?”

Those had been Master Alfor's instructions, relayed from the council. Keith repeated the words over and over to himself as he concentrated. He could do this. He was determined to do it. Once the ship and crew arrived it was up to him to be a representative for the whole of the Jedi Order. He would complete his mission quickly and efficiently, and uphold the tenets of the Jedi Code, and make his master proud...

But he wasn't nervous.

A sudden wind and the sound of massive engines burst through the hangar, startling Keith back to himself. He raised an arm to shield his eyes and squinted against the gust, watching as a large ship moved into view through the open hangar door, briefly blocking the light and vibrating the plasteel foundations under his boots. The ship touched down and its engines died with a whirr, the air still shimmering from the heat of exhaust.

Keith lowered his arm.

At first glance, it didn't look like much.

Mostly, the ship was old. If Keith had to guess he would place it among one of the Corellian lines, though a make and model that had been discontinued for ages. Maybe one of the XS lights? The exterior was a patchwork of metal plating and solder jobs that looked like they had been put together in a hurry and with pure functionality in mind. Scorch marks and scrapes decorated the hull to the point that most of its original blue finish had been worn away, and what remained was faded and chipped.

The pilot, once he appeared over the loading ramp, looked Corellian too.

“Welcome to the Blue Lion!” He swept his arm in a grand gesture and even bowed, posed just so to indicate the transport behind him. “I hope you'll enjoy your stay. I'm Captain Lance McClain. I'll be flying you around in this bad girl for the foreseeable future, but, eh...you can call me 'Ace.'”

He paused there, seeming to wait for some kind of acknowledgement.

Keith stared at him.

Then he stared at the ship, remembering his vision from the garden. He hadn't quite gotten around to telling Master Alfor about it.

A blue lion...

“I'm Keith,” he said absently.

The pilot's eyebrow twitched. But he recovered immediately.

“Keith? Great! Well, welcome aboard!” Lance made more sweeping gestures as he ushered Keith up the loading ramp. Keith went, keeping his hands tucked in close to himself, pressing down the edges of his robes so they wouldn't billow.

“Let me show you around! In addition to being the fastest ship in the quadrant _and_ operated by the best pilot in the galaxy, the Blue Lion offers a wide range of luxuries you just won't find on other freighters this size—”

“Yeah. None of that is true,” said presumably a crewmember who stood waiting at the top of the loading ramp, just inside the ship's interior. She – Keith guessed she was a she? it wasn't immediately obvious, and may not have been relevant, depending on her culture – was short. Also seemingly human, like Lance. A small, triangular droid hovered just over her shoulder.

“I'm Pidge. This is R0-VR.” She indicated the droid.

Keith nodded to both of them.

“Nice to meet you.”

She held out her hand to shake. Keith looked at it for a moment, then gently took it.

“Just let me know if anything breaks,” she shrugged and let go. “Hunk and I are the ones who fix things around here.”

As if on cue, there came a shout and the sound of...several...things crashing to the floor in a distant part of the ship, echoing down the long circular corridor that connected it all.

“I'm okay!” called a distant voice.

Pidge winced and adjusted her correctional visor.

“That would be Hunk. You'll meet him next.”

“Yeah, anyway,” said Lance, waving one hand. “As I was saying—”

“What kind of weapons array does this ship have?” Keith asked.

That made Lance perk up.

“This baby? Oh, she's got it all!” He listed them off with a count on his fingers. “Three hundred and sixty degree nose, dorsal, _and_ bottom turrets, equipped with top-notch blaster turbines. Twin rear cannons. A conductive hull primed for energy bursts in case of mynocks. Built-in stealth cloaking, and a double ion engine that will leave any and all competition in the dust.”

They were walking the circular interior of the ship, Keith taking note of the relative locations of the cockpit. The cargo hold. The rungs of ladders that led up and down to the various blaster turrets. He'd seen designs of a wide variety of ships like this in training manuals and simulations – piloting was another skill he seemed to excel at back at the Temple – but he'd never been in one before.

“You have stealthing?” he repeated, awe creeping into his voice.

“Yup. Custom rigged.” Pidge flashed a grin of pride. “My own design.”

“There's also a shuttle in the cargo hold,” said Lance. “For shorter-distance transporting.”

They passed by an open entry way, leading to a space lined with protective railings. Beyond them was the rotating, thrumming sight of the ship's large engines, their spinning slow now that the ship was idle. Keith could only imagine what they looked like at full speed, sparking arcs of lightning against the array of ion panels, somehow a contained force of impossible energy crammed into such a small space. It made him shiver a little.

Something moved beneath an open panel at the control station, this side of the railing. Keith craned his neck a little to look, and could just make out the lower half of a large humanoid sticking out from a pile of ship's guts and wires. The booted feet kicked and wriggled, and after a shower of explosive sparks that made Keith flinch he could hear a long, low string of dubiously family-safe grumbling.

“That's Hunk,” said Pidge, pointing.

A hand stuck out from the mess and waved, covered in engine grease.

“Yo.”

Then went back in.

“...aaaaaaaand those are the bunks,” Lance pointed out as they kept going. “Not to worry. Everyone gets their own. And that's the fresher.”

They ended the tour back at the entryway to the cockpit. Lance spun around, his arms spread, indicating the whole of the ship with a proud upward tilt of his chin.

“So. Whuddya think? Pretty impressive, right?”

Keith had seen better. But the ship's interior seemed better cared for – or at least more put together – than the exterior. He supposed that counted for something. And it wouldn't serve to ruin morale so early in his mission, so he nodded, glancing casually aside.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “It's great.”

Lance seemed to count that as a win, and cheered himself as he ducked on in to the cockpit.

“Yeah, baby! Now let's blow this spaceport.” He flopped into the pilot's seat and grabbed the controls, flipping a few switches on the console to raise the loading ramp and start powering up. “So where to?”

That was where Keith paused, folding his arms into the sleeves of his robe.

“Err...well...”

Lance raises an eyebrow at him, looking him up and down with renewed appraisal.

“You...do know where we're going, right?”

Keith felt heat flush his cheeks. Actually, Master Alfor hadn't mentioned any definite locations. There was the datalog of the mission details he'd been given, drawn up with the council's authority, but in his hurry to leave Keith hadn't had a chance to look at it...

“It's okay,” said Pidge, having settled into a seat further back in the cockpit, facing a computer console. R0-VR continued to hover and beep at her shoulder. “I was already doing some tracking work for the guy who hired us. Based on the serial numbers of the cargo he had me following, the time it came in, and the ships involved I'm pretty sure I can compile enough data to chart a likely course for where the shipment initially came from. It involves some manifest hacking and illegal log breaches, but Jedi have that kind of authority, right?”

She laughed a little at something that was apparently funny in that statement, and her fingers flew across the console, typing commands without looking and scrolling through readout screens faster than Keith could follow. She said a lot more technical things after that, but Keith didn't understand a word of it.

He looked back to Lance, who also shrugged, and mouthed the words “computer magic” while making a mock gesture of Pidge's typing with his hands.

“Okay. Got some coordinates,” Pidge said a moment later. “Sending to you, Lance.”

“That's 'Captain' Lance,” he said over the sound of the ship humming to life. “Or Ace. Either one.”

The cockpit lit up all around. The floor lurched under Keith's feet as the ship's engines revved, blowing out enough power and thrust through the rear exhaust ports to lift it off the ground. Keith grabbed reflexively onto the back of Lance's chair to steady himself.

Then he looked, eyes wide, to the forward viewscreen. The ship slid easily out through the entrance of the hangar into Coruscant's bright mid-day sun, where it tipped upward, making Keith have to squint against the shift of light as it aimed toward an impossibly blue sky.

“First time in space?” Lance asked, seeing something in Keith's expression.

Keith nodded, not looking away.

“Yeah,” he breathed.

“Well, you're in for a treat.” Lance plugged in the coordinates Pidge gave him, adjusted the right combination of controls, then held on to the main steering array. “Best brace yourself.”

Keith did, planting his feet wide and firm and holding on to the back of the pilot seat. It didn't occur to him to find a spot to sit down.

“Here we go!”

Lance punched the controls, and the ship shot upward, blue sky quickly giving away to purple and then black, dotted with a countless number of stars. Keith had time to marvel for only a few moments, his breath stolen by the sight, the sheer impossibility of the scope laid out before him, until the stars blurred away too. Became streaks of melding, molding blue and white as they lurched even faster into hyperspace, leaving Coruscant far behind.


	4. Chapter 4

“...recovered some evidence of their crystal production,” Keith said, his eyes downcast at the red crystal he turned in his hand. It was the one Master Alfor had told him to keep, though it looked identical to the small pile that had been dumped unceremoniously into a corner behind him. Half spilled out of the sack in which they'd been carried. “There wasn't anyone there to question. Just droids. Pidge managed to grab some data from their main terminal, but she said it would take awhile to decode.”

The small projection of Master Alfor over the comm unit was the only light in the room, casting everything in soft, flickering blue.

He stroked his beard, humming and nodding as he listened to Keith's report.

“That is rather alarming.” His voice was even as he looked over the images Keith sent. Copies and recordings of what R0-VR had been able to grab from the room with the tanks. “I especially don't like the look of those circles.”

Keith closed his hand around the crystal, holding it tight, trying not to dwell on the cold feeling of wrongness attached to the memory of that dark laboratory and its carvings. He lowered his voice, and hunched down into his shoulders, as if to brace against some kind of retribution just for speaking the words aloud.

“Is it...Sith?”

“Hmm. Possibly. I'll have to check these markings against any known documentation we have of them. But, should that be the case...” Alfor took a breath, blowing it out hard enough to disturb a fall of hair from his eyes. “There's more cause for concern than I initially thought.”

Keith willed the tension from his shoulders, pushing out a breath through his nose. He closed his eyes, letting them clench. When he opened them again, his head had turned itself aside to the sleeping form lying in his bunk. Like he was naturally drawn.

The man they'd pulled out of the tank was still asleep. Even after escaping the outpost and taking off into open space, he'd yet to wake up.

“You know you can put him down now, right?” Lance leaned back from the controls once the blue streaks of hyperspace enveloped the ship, raising an eyebrow at Keith as he'd stood there in the cockpit with the rest of them, still carrying their newest passenger on his back.

Keith blinked at him.

“Yeah, that guy's gotta be heavy,” said Hunk.

“Not really,” Keith mumbled.

“Where are we gonna put him?” Lance wrinkled his nose a little, eying the two of them up and down. “We don't exactly have a proper infirmary, and only four bunks.”

“Yeah, my room's out,” said Hunk. “Probably Pidge's, too. Have you seen that disaster lately?”

Pidge threw a spare washer from her console at him.

“He can use mine,” Keith had said, and turned to go, ignoring Lance as he called after him in incredulity.

“Then where are _you_ gonna sleep?”

They'd dropped out of hyperspace once they were a safe distance away from the outpost so Keith could contact his master. Now the soft blue light of the comm unit cast gentle shadows across the man's cheekbones and jawline, gentling the harder lines of him. Covered as he was by the bunk's sheets and blankets – and Keith's outer robe still draped across the top of all that – it was easier to forget the battered state of the rest of his body underneath. His face, at least, seemed to be at peace.

Alfor politely cleared his throat.

Keith winced, jerking back to the present, suddenly realizing he had no idea just how long he'd let himself get distracted.

“And how is your rescuee?” Alfor's tone curled with a knowing edge.

Keith's eyes shot down, suddenly very fixated on the crystal in his hands.

“Fine,” he mumbled, resorting to recitation. “Initial scans don't show anything physically wrong with him...” Besides the obvious, already healed over. “...but...I think we should get him to a medical facility.”

“Oh?”

Keith nodded.

“We don't know yet what's been done to him, and...if there's a way...to wake him...he might be able to answer some questions...”

Keith's voice trailed off under the sound of his own uncertainty. He could feel Master Alfor's eyes on him, the dubious arch of his brow practically eclipsing him in its shadow.

Alfor waited a moment to give Keith the chance to continue. When he didn't, he pushed gently, though with an air that suggested he already knew perfectly well how Keith felt on the matter.

“Do you truly think that's best?”

Keith clenched tight. He kept his eyes down, and nodded his head.

Alfor sighed, and spoke gently, his tone as soft as a parent to their child.

“Keith, you should be mindful of your instincts. If you feel that something isn't right, then the Force is telling you so for a reason.”

“A Republic facility could treat him better than we could on this ship,” Keith said, practically forcing the words through his teeth.

Alfor sighed again, and relented, crossing his arms.

“Very well. If that is your decision.”

It was, but Keith didn't like it. He knew it was an objectively good decision. It made sense. It was a perfectly sound and logical course of action to take. But it didn't...it didn't _feel_ right, and Keith had no other justification to not follow it. For as long as they'd known each other, Master Alfor had taught Keith to trust his instincts. To listen to the Force and heed its guidance. That was the crux of every Jedi's training. What each and every one of them strove to achieve.

But Keith could recall other training as well. Other voices from the Republic insisting on protocol and standard operating procedures.

More than anything, Keith didn't want to make a mistake in this.

Not just because it was his first mission.

When he closed his eyes, he could still remember reaching out into the tank. What he felt reaching back.

He wanted to help...

“How's Altea?” Keith risked peeking out from under his hair towards his master, steering the conversation away with the first topic that came to mind.

Alfor laughed.

“Oh! Oh, Altea is...wonderful.” He smiled, pushing back his hair from his face, looking down to meet Keith's eyes with renewed fondness. “It's always wonderful.”

“So...everything there is...going well?”

Keith was not good at probing. Which Alfor knew perfectly well.

“Oh yes. Quite well. I'll tell you all about it soon.”

Keith pouted.

“I'm sorry, Keith. I would ask that you trust me in this.” Alfor laughed gently. He even gave him a wink. “As you should be trusting yourself, as well.”

Keith did trust his master. With his life.

“How long before you can come back?”

“Oh, not long, I should think. Once matters here calm a little, I'll—” Alfor turned away suddenly, responding to some squall of noise beyond the range of the holoprojection that Keith couldn't see. His expression grew slack, and his body language shifted to that exact level of concern Alfor usually reserved for when things in the lab suddenly caught on fire.

“Oh dear. I'm afraid I must go. Keep me informed!” Alfor lunged forward and slapped the controls of the comm unit, severing the connection. The room went dark and Keith blinked a few times as he sat there, his eyes gradually adjusting to the one strip of light that glowed along the bottom of the door where it didn't quite seal.

He sighed a little to himself, then got up, brushing down his robes and tucking the crystal away on his belt.

Whatever Alfor was up to, Keith didn't sense that it was anything he needed to rush off and save him from. That feeling, at least, he trusted.

He turned and looked again toward the sleeping form on the bed, his gaze settling there with an unquestioned ease.

Just over the sound of the ship's perpetual background hum of engines, Keith could hear him breathing. Deep and regular. Now and then disturbed by a barely-there grunt.

Was he dreaming?

Keith's steps were feather soft as he moved to the bedside, making an effort to be quiet. The bunk wasn't large, and the beds themselves were low. He could kneel down and still be just over the level of the sleeping man's face. Right at the perfect angle to reach out and brush that shock of white hair away from his eyes.

Keith frowned, struck by the intensity of the urge. He kept his hands to himself, but did kneel down, peering closer to the man's face, as if by looking at a closer proximity he could gain some better insight about just what had been done to him. Or at least who he was.

Keith wanted to know.

There was a scar across his nose. Long healed, not deep or cauterized. A wound like that would have bled a lot. The white hair on his brow could have been the result of some form of trauma, physical or otherwise. There was a collection of smaller scratches, scars, and nicks across his skin, and the faint formation of lines near his eyes that Keith felt spoke more of wear and care than the onset of age. The lines of him were still strong, even in the dim light. And he had long eyelashes. And his lips were parted just slightly where he breathed.

He was...beautiful. As much in face as in body. Keith wondered if it should have been strange for him to notice, though he also thought he would have had to be blind not to. Even without sight, the senses that radiated when Keith focused down on him...those same feelings as had been back in the tank in that room...that ache of struggling...

Keith would have been able to see that even if he _was_ blind. It was impossible not to.

The urge to brush his hand over that bit of white hair grew harder and harder to resist.

A noise issued suddenly from the control panel beside the door. The quiet chime that indicated someone was on the other side.

“Hey.” Hunk's voice, muffled through the plasteel. “Done with your call? I brought some dinner.”

Keith jerked his hand back to himself and tucked it into his lap.

“Err...yeah.” He answered over his shoulder, just loud enough to be heard. Clearing his throat. “C'mon in.”

The door swished open. Hunk's outline appeared, silhouetted in light from the corridor. He hesitated a moment before he stepped inside, his head curiously tilting.

“Were you just...sitting here? In the dark?”

Keith blinked, taking a moment to realize.

He started to say something by way of an explanation, or an excuse, then clamped his mouth shut. His heart sped in a guilty sprint.

Hunk just shrugged, and turned aside to set down the tray he carried.

“Hey, man. It's cool. Jedi stuff. That's why I always signal before trying the door. I mean, besides that it's just rude not to. One time I walked in on Lance watching these Zeltron holos. Learned my lesson after that.”

Hunk went ahead and activated the room's lights. To his credit, he didn't put them up to full. Keith glanced back towards the bed to see if that was enough to wake their sleeping passenger, but...no. He slept on.

Keith pretended he didn't feel something like hope being doused.

“So I don't know what they feed you guys back at that Temple,” Hunk went on. “But I figured I'd make a special dinner for everyone. You know. To celebrate us getting out of that place alive and stuff.” He presented his tray proudly. A collection of plates and bowls filled with a variety of substances, none of which Keith recognized. But they smelled good.

Keith's stomach growled audibly as the memory returned that he hadn't eaten in awhile.

Hunk grinned, and offered him a spork.

“Hope you like it.”

Keith sat down on the floor, cross-legged, his back braced against the side of the bed while Hunk leaned on a storage crate against the opposite wall. Tray settled in his lap, Keith selected an item at random like he knew what he was doing, and tasted it. Overly aware that Hunk was watching. Already prepared to make a show of appreciation no matter how the food turned out.

What turned out was that Keith didn't have to fake anything. The meal was amazing.

Keith's appetite returned in full force as he devoured the tray's contents, his appreciation highly audible. By the time he finished he'd reached the conclusion that the Jedi Temple frowned upon the concept of 'flavor' in general, based on everything he'd ever been fed.

Hunk beamed that particular joy that came from making someone else full and happy.

“So...you were pretty amazing back there,” he ventured at length, while Keith was busy hunting down every last crumb with a seek-and-destroy intensity.

“So were you,” Keith said through half a mouthful, nodding. “You lifted that whole door like it was nothing.”

“Yeah, well, only because I can't knock droids over just by waving my hand.” Hunk grinned. He leaned forward after a moment longer, shifting his weight with an antsy excitement. Watching Keith. “Hey. So...would it be cool...if I asked you...a few things?”

Keith nodded from somewhere inside his bowl.

“Can Jedi really read peoples' minds?”

“Sometimes,” Keith said, muffled.

“So...like...what's the proximity on that?” Hunk made some vague gestures with his hands, moving them in a circle. “Like, how close do you have to be? And how deep can you go? Like, I'm just wondering how careful I should be...y'know...about certain...stuff. Also, controlling peoples' minds. How does that work?”

Keith looked up enough to frown at him, taking his time to chew and swallow before he answered.

“We don't control peoples' minds,” he said.

“But...I saw a thing in a holovid once? The whole...” Hunk held up two fingers and moved them side to side in front of his face.

“That's a mind trick,” said Keith. He set his hand down in his lap that still held his spork. The food was pretty much gone anyway. “It's just a suggestion, and it doesn't always work.”

“Still. Pretty cool, huh?” Hunk imitated the gesture again, smirking as he intoned his voice. “You _will_ give me double pickles on my solar burger free of charge. And extra space spuds!”

Keith lowered his eyes, looking down at the empty bowls.

“I'm not very good at mind tricks,” he mumbled.

“But you can do all that other cool stuff, yeah? Like the way you threw those droids around. Hey, what's the maximum weight you can lift just using your mind?”

“I...don't know...?”

“Also! Lightsabers.” Hunk indicated Keith's lying on the floor nearby. “I thought they all had retractable blades?”

“They do. That one's a training saber.”

“Oh. So you don't have...like...a real one?”

His note of disappointment was clear. Keith frowned, liking this line of questioning less and less.

“I'll get one,” he huffed, feeling the back of his neck tense and prickle. “I just have to find the parts to build it.”

“Oh. Okay, that's cool. Hey, maybe Pidge and I can help? Not gonna lie, we _really_ wanna see one of those things up close. If you have any diagrams or schematics we could see if we have some parts on hand? There's tons of 'em just lying around the ship.” Hunk grinned, and winked. “Maybe a few will find their way to you next birthday?”

“Birthday?” Keith echoed, a perfectly blank look on his face.

Hunk's paled with a sudden horror.

“You...Jedi do have birthdays. Right?”

“Of course we do.” Keith frowned again. Jedi were people. They were born just like everyone else. Except the Iron Knights from planet Orax. They were rocks.

“Well, yeah, but I mean... _birthdays_.” Hunk gestured emphatically again. “You celebrate the day you were born? Parties? Tons of food? People give you stuff?”

“Material possessions are discouraged.”

Hunk looked at him like a little part of him had just died. Keith barely noticed, and didn't linger long enough to dwell on the matter.

Because right about then a louder groan sounded just behind him.

Keith got up, scrambling to his feet with just enough grace to not send the food tray and its contents clanging to the floor. His attention snapped to the figure on the bed, breath held as he focused and tensed.

The man shifted beneath the blankets, and groaned again, brow knotting as he turned his face towards him.

His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, they met.

Keith didn't know how to name the feeling, or why it was there. It felt like a solid punch landed in his stomach, knocking the breath from his chest and leaving him unable to draw more. He stared, openly and blatantly, at the gray depth of those eyes, and the way they felt like they were reaching back, narrowing just a little in confused recognition.

“You,” the man breathed softly. Something behind his voice slotting into place.

Keith blinked. A wave of sensation swept down his back.

“Huh?” was all he managed to breathe in return.

He felt Hunk lean in over his shoulder to see, partially blocking the light.

“Is it true Jedi can fly?” he mumbled.

Keith only barely registered the words. There was a sudden surge of movement. A burst of energy. The man on the bed threw back the covers and launched himself forward, his cybernetic arm activating with a vibrant purple glow as it arced high to land a strike. Hunk yelped-screamed and threw himself out of the way, raising up his arms in what was probably a useless defense.

In less time than it took to think, Keith held out his hand and pulled his lightsaber to him, activating the blade. He raised it cross-wise in front of himself and the man's arm slammed against it, nearly knocking him back. The power behind the blow shook Keith's bones all the way to his knees. But he planted himself and stood his ground, teeth gritting, glaring over the glow and hiss and spit of the connecting energies.

The two of them were equally surprised when neither of their weapons went straight through the other...

Keith twisted his blade, slipping the man's arm off of it to spin inside his reach. A quick elbow to his gut and boot hooked around his ankle dropped him to the ground, where Keith grabbed his non-glowing arm and twisted it up behind his back, pinning him.

“It's alright!” he rasped, putting all his weight forward onto his knee planted between the man's shoulderblades. Keith didn't want to hurt him, but he wasn't exactly small-framed. “It's okay. No one here's going to hurt you...”

His words came out sounding more like a growl than he meant, but Keith's heart was racing. His breath returning in short, sporadic bursts. He kept the man pinned, Hunk mewling his fear somewhere behind. Gradually, by degrees, Keith felt the tension leave him. The man's shoulders relaxed. The muscles in his back unclenched. The glow in his arm faded.

His breathing returned to normal.

Keith carefully let him up, repeating his reassurances. Over and over in his best attempt at a soothing tone.

“It's okay...it's okay...”

The man sat up, groaning as he touched his forehead. Keith helped him turn and eased him back to lean against the side of the bed, remaining crouched and hovering near.

“I'm Keith,” he said, his eyes trained intently upon him.

For a moment, the man didn't answer. He sagged against the bedside, one hand to his brow, until he dropped it and let his arms rest across his knees. He peeked up just a little at Keith through the fall of that white hair, his eyes now soft. Open and reaching and lost.

“Where am I?” he asked, throat dry.

“This is the Blue Lion?” Hunk offered tentatively, reminding Keith he was even there. “We, uh, rescued you?”

The man frowned, glancing at Hunk. His eyes were quick to return to Keith, a quick appraisal up and down to take in the way he was dressed.

“You're...with the Republic.”

Keith nodded.

“I'm a Jedi.” He leaned forward, eager, and reached out, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. He felt him tense, but didn't pull away. “What's your name?”

The man eyes followed the path of Keith's hand to where it landed, wavering a moment before answering.

“...S...Shiro...” he said, very quietly.

Keith smiled. He didn't know why. It felt like to took up far too much room on his face. He moved in even closer and hooked his arm beneath Shiro's, the other behind his back as he helped him up. Shiro grunted and pushed himself to stand, but didn't make it very far. He plopped back down heavily on the bedside, rubbing his face with a weary half-heartedness.

“Do you feel okay?” Keith asked, staying close. Lingering near. Kneeling on the bed beside him. Hand on his shoulder in case he needed the extra support. “Do you need anything?”

Shiro made an uncertain sound. Winced and shook his head, like it strained him too much to think. “No, I'm...I think I'm alright...”

“Stasis sickness.” Hunk nodded. “Probably best not to eat anything for a few hours. Might not stay down.”

“We can at least get you some water,” Keith insisted.

“Yeah. And maybe some clothes?” Hunk held up one hand to shield his mouth, whispering to Keith overly loud. “I mean, not that anything we have'll fit...”

It was true. After throwing off the blankets, Shiro was left in only his shorts from the kolto tank. And those didn't hide much.

The rest of him was...substantial.

“It's okay,” said Keith, nodding. Repeating it. “Everything'll be okay. You're safe now.”

Shiro didn't have it in him to argue. He nodded, a tired but appreciative smile offered their way as he glanced to Keith's eyes again. They met briefly once more – Keith knew because he had looked at absolutely nothing else in the meantime – before Shiro scooted back to put himself more properly into the bed, pulling the blankets and covers over his feet.

“Thank you,” he exhaled, chin dropping to his chest. Eyes briefly closing. “Thank you...for everything. But...how did you know to find me?”

“We didn't,” Keith faltered, trying to remember the exact path that had led them there. Cohesive thought was suddenly very hard to achieve. “We...just—”

The whole of the ship lurched suddenly under their feet. The sound of a distant explosion shook the hull and made the interior lights flash. Alarms began to sound.

“Whaa...?” Hunk yelped, grabbing onto something to steady himself. “What's happening?”

Keith's glare tore away from Shiro at last and snapped in the direction of the cockpit. His jaw tightened, registering only then the threat and danger that lay beyond immediate sight.

They were under attack.

“Stay here,” he growled, and turned to duck out of the bunk.

“Yeah, okay.” Hunk readily agreed. “No problem.”

“Not you!”

Keith grabbed Hunk by the neck of his vest, and dragged him out with him, hurrying towards the front of the ship.

*****

“Oh, c'mon! C'mon c'mon c'mon!”

The cockpit was a flurry of noise and flashing lights as Keith and Hunk arrived, catching themselves against the frame of the entryway as another lurch in the ship knocked them sideways. Lance was at the controls, veering the ship hard one way, then another, as outside the forward viewscreens a swarm of small fighters filled the open starfield before them. Trails of red exhaust tailed behind them like comets as they darted and flew, filling the black with even more bright red flashes where they fired on the Blue Lion. Each shot that landed dissipated into white against the ship's active shields, but the shockwave still reverberated through the hull. Keith could feel it through his boots.

“Shields are holding!” Pidge shouted from her console. “But they won't forever. We need to get out of here!”

“I'm trying, I'm trying!” Lance's hands flew over the controls, attempting to punch in coordinates and steer at the same time. “Plotting a hyperspace jump now, but I'll need a few seconds. You guys go and keep 'em off of us!”

He glared up at the viewscreens, a defiant flare behind his eyes each time another hit landed on the ship.

“Man, where did these things come from?”

“No idea,” Pidge reported. “But they're short-range fighters so they couldn't have come far.” She pulled up glowing screens across her console, information scrolling faster than Keith could keep up with. She frowned behind her visor. “Design elements are suspiciously similar to the tech on those droids from the outpost we just left. So. Yeah. That's a thing.”

“Whatever. You and Hunk just get on the turrets!”

Pidge and Hunk glanced at each other, a delay of just a moment before Hunk turned to bolt down the corridor. Pidge leaped from her chair after him, scrambling to catch up.

“I call top turret!”

“No fair! You always get top turret!”

“Cause I can get up the ladder faster than you!”

R0-VR went too. The three of them disappeared through hatches that led to different parts of the ship.

Keith looked back to Lance.

“What can I do?” he asked, his weight forward on his toes. Tense and ready.

“You any good with a blaster?” Lance growled without looking up.

Keith tightened both hands, bracing himself as another lurch rocked the ship.

“I don't know!” Keith shouted over the noise.

“Well, get ready to find out!” Lance pointed down and to his right, where the opening to a recessed crawlspace lead to the bottom of the ship's nose. “Turret! Down there! Move the rig to aim and press both buttons to fire!”

Keith didn't hesitate, throwing himself down and barely taking the ladder that led to the free-spinning rig.

It felt...strange to sit in. Like a chair that wasn't quite braced against anything. The seat gave a little as he plopped into it, and would spin and twist at the slightest shift of his weight. Between such free movement and the fact that the turret housing was completely transparent for a good two hundred and seventy degrees around him, Keith knew a brief, near-panicked moment of suspension: dizzy with the illusion that he was floating untethered, with nothing at all between him and the cold vacuum of space.

But a moment was all it lasted.

Keith wobbled a little and overshot several times before adjusting to the sensitive gyros. Grabbing and holding onto the turret controls helped. They were big. And bulky. Awkward. Not quite as right in his hands the way a lightsaber felt. But he lifted his eyes over the top of it towards the targeting screen and took a breath, his face setting into a hard look of concentration.

When the next fighter flew by, he didn't think. Just shifted his weight and squeezed the controls in both hands as hard as he could.

It was easy. Too easy. The red flashes of blasterfire cut through the starscape with no effort at all. The white explosion of a ship followed after, felt more than heard in the way it shook against the hull.

“Woohoo!” Lance crowed from overhead, pumping his fist. “Yeah, baby! That's the way to do it!”

After that, it became a dance.

Keith was reminded of a countless number of sparring sessions back at the Temple where he would lose himself in the flow of movement. No thinking. Just doing. An endless stream of action and reaction, each moment bleeding seamlessly into the next. Simple. Straightforward. Cause and effect. The anatomical logic of battle.

He felt it again here. His connection with the Force hinting, telling him where the ships were going to be before he saw them. All but tracing the lines of their trajectories between the stars. He would shift. Line up the nose of his turret. The movement easy and swift and precise. Then fire like a quick, decisive strike, rewarded with a single crushing blow that took out his target. It sped his heart. It made him feel light with that sense of purpose. Of being and doing exactly what the whole of the universe – what the Force – meant for him to do.

Tiny comm units built into the rig allowed for free communication among the crew. He could hear Hunk and Pidge teasing and challenging each other, keeping count of how many fighters they shot down. (Pidge was winning.) He could hear R0-VR's excited beeps and Lance's growling frustration as the hyperdrive refused to cooperate. Keith concentrated and focused and fired but there seemed no end to the ships surrounding them. Like a swarm of biting insects. Each new hit they landed against the shields made the alarms blare louder.

“We can't keep this up,” Pidge warned over the comms. “Laaaaaaaaance!”

“I know! I know!”

“Lance!” Keith snarled, sudden and loud. “Roll starboard!”

“What?” Lance questioned, but did it anyway, spinning just out of the way of an ion torpedo as it shot by from behind. It narrowly missed impacting the ship's left wing.

“Whoa! How did you—oh, come _on!_ ”

More fighters. Just then dropping out of hyperspace. Keith saw the small army of them spread across the starscape, and felt the cold chill of fear that ran through the whole of the Blue Lion's crew.

“These things have hyperdrives?” Hunk groaned.

“But no shields,” said Pidge.

“Doesn't matter. There's still a lot more of them than us.”

“Lance, we could reeeeeally use that hyperspace jump now...”

“I know, I know, I know!” Lance sank forward over the ship's controls, bowing his head to the console as if to cradle the metal panels in his arms as best he could. “C'mon, baby. I know you can do it. Do it for me? Lancey Lance?”

He punched in the coordinates, and hit the activation.

A moment's delay, then the lights on the hyperdrive console sputtered and went out. There was a hiss and bit of smoke.

Lance's hand balled into a fist.

“OH COME ON!”

He slammed it hard against the panel.

The lights flared back to life, accompanied by the rev of an engine powering up somewhere in the back of the ship.

Lance's face lit up too.

“...ha! Okay, everyone. Strap in!”

He punched in the coordinates again, and hit the activation.

This time the entire ship came to life, flaring bright with a thrum through its foundations, the energy reflected in Lance's eyes. He grinned out at the enemy fighters, and didn't have to look to grab the lever on the console and pull it down.

“So long, shuttles!”

All around Keith, the stars of space blurred, turning into long streaks of alternating white and blue as they shot into hyperspace.

*****

The bent figure read the report with cold disapproval, narrowing their eyes.

“The fighters failed to stop them,” growled the large one over the open comm channel. “I'm going to go after them myself.”

“Bring back the escaped subject or see them destroyed,” the bent one rasped. “We cannot allow any further evidence to fall into Republic hands.”

“I will not fail.”

“See that you don't.”

They reached out one hand and severed the connection, plunging the room into darkness.

They emerged a moment later into a more brightly-lit corridor. Two armed guards stood to attention on either side of the doorway, saluting with arms crossed over their chests.

“Vrepit sa!” they said in unison.

The figure barely acknowledged them with a nod.

“Prepare my shuttle,” they said, glowering through the shadow cast by the hooded robe that concealed most of their face. “And alert my attendants. We're going to move forward with the Komar experiments.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Takashi Shirogane,” Pidge read aloud from the document projected over her console. “Republic military. Exemplary soldier. Decorated pilot. Lots of commendations. Volunteered for some super special secret mission a few years ago, and that's the last known listing for him. Declared MIA after that.”

“Special secret mission?” Lance frowned, leaning forward to peer over Pidge's shoulder. “What kind of special secret mission?”

“The kind that's special,” said Pidge. “And secret.” She demonstrated her point by bringing up several more documents, gesturing to them. Classified. Redacted. All a variety of official-looking forms covered in Republic seals and signatures. Keith even spotted some markings of the Supreme Chancellor's office among them.

“Just a guess though, I'd say some pretty top-level stuff.”

Keith didn't ask how Pidge had managed to get classified documents in the first place. He leaned over her shoulder intently, catching what bits of data he could.

Over Pidge's other shoulder, R0-VR hovered and beeped.

“Does he have a family?” Keith asked.

“Hmm. Classified,” answered Pidge, though she leaned back in her chair and cracked her knuckles, shaking her hands out. “Which just makes me wanna slice it harder.” She bent back over her console and typed furiously on the glowing controls, for a moment her eyes hidden behind the reflective glow on her visor. “Also...does the term 'Galra' mean anything to you?”

Keith blinked, and shook his head.

“Why?”

“It keeps popping up in the information I downloaded from that outpost. I've been cross-referencing it with the holonet and my own databases, and but all I can find are a few bits and pieces about how they're some kind of ancient spacefaring nomadic race? Their original homeworld was destroyed thousands of years ago, and since then they've barely been mentioned anywhere. By anyone.”

“Were they the ones in charge of the outpost?”

“Maybe? Hunk, see if you can match any of their old ship designs to the ones that attacked us.” Pidge leaned back in her chair and swiveled around, shrugging as she drew up her legs to cross. “That's...really it. There's nothing else to go on. At least, not without a _lot_ more decrypting.”

It wasn't much, but Keith nodded. Grateful. He stepped back from the console and folded his arms over his chest, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe.

It was reassuring to find out that Shiro was from the Republic. Keith had planned to take him back there anyway, but this lent more weight to the idea.

Though it didn't dispel the nagging feeling that was still lingering in the back of his mind. That sense that something wasn't quite right. Keith ignored it, looking to the documents instead.

Some of them contained images. One, still displayed prominently on Pidge's console, looked like Shiro's profile shot from when he first enlisted. It showed a young man with a lopsided smile, and a close-shaved military haircut, unified in its dark color, that kind of made his ears stick out. His eyes were bright, and the energy and spirit behind them spoke of a youthful enthusiasm. The perfect image of a hopeful, dedicated young recruit ready to join the ranks of the Republic's finest and live up to every single one of their ideals.

Keith tried to mentally draw the line between that image and the man who had woken up in his bunk just a short while ago. It wasn't...impossible...but it was difficult.

“So what do we do now?” Hunk's voice intruded on his thoughts.

Keith realized suddenly that everyone was looking at him.

“Err...” he fumbled, heat flushing his cheeks. Remembering it was supposed to be his mission. “We should...find a Republic facility...get Shiro to a medic...”

“'Shiro?'” Lance raised an eyebrow, looking at Keith dubiously.

Keith stared back at him with a blank expression.

R0-VR beeped quietly. Pidge adjusted her visor.

Hunk looked between all of them, wondering why the cockpit had suddenly gotten so quiet.

Lance held up his hands and turned away, making a gesture as if shrugging something off his shoulders.

“Okay, man. Okay. 'Shiro' it is. I'll give the Republic a call.”

*****

Keith found Shiro in the Blue Lion's cargo bay.

His insistence that Shiro keep resting after his ordeal had been met first with gentle appreciation, and then complete disregard.

Shiro didn't seem to want to rest. He'd come up to the cockpit once they'd made it to the calm of hyperspace after the attack, asking if everyone was alright. If there was anything he could do. And giving them all an incredibly nice view besides the one that lay outside the forward viewscreens. (Keith was not the only one who noticed.) Hunk had laughed overly loud and then pushed Shiro out, saying something about an old work uniform he had still tucked away somewhere in the engine room.

It was mostly black, and still pretty tight on him, but somehow Shiro had squeezed into it.

Now, he was doing sit-ups.

Keith stood and watched from the entryway of the cargo hold, his hands on the guard rail, looking down over the arrangement of boxes and crates. A ladder led from the catwalk down to the floor of the hold. Currently Shiro was hanging upside down from it, his knees bent and feet hooked around one of the bars halfway up, hands behind his head and making little grunting sounds as the air left him each time he rose. Up and down. Bending himself in half to touch his nose to his knees like it was no effort at all.

The already tight vest Hunk had put him in did...interesting things across Shiro's chest, and the bottom was riding up a little, showing a flash of skin at his midriff. He'd cleaned up from the way they'd found him at the outpost: shaved, washed, and trimmed his hair. He'd gone back to that close-shaved military undercut style. Which meant his ears once more looked like they were sticking out.

It was...unbelievably endearing.

Keith stared, watching. And watching. And kept watching, until he remembered why it was he'd gone in there.

“Are you okay?” he blurted, overly loud in the large space.

Shiro grunted one last time, then let himself stop. He dropped his weight so that he hung upside down from the ladder, blinking up toward Keith on the catwalk. Frowning a little at the choice of phrasing. 

“Uhh, yeah?” he answered, and smiled. “I'm fine. Just...working out the stiffness.” At first he let his arms just hang, then seemed to second-guess the positioning and crossed them over his chest. Still smiling. “And I smell a lot better now.”

He laughed a little. Keith felt warmth bloom through his chest.

“Also, I'm...sorry about earlier.” Shiro pushed a hand back through that white bit of hair he'd kept longer than the rest. It fell straight down again. He cast his eyes down – up? – and managed to look sheepish. “I guess it was just surprise, finally getting out of that tank.”

It took Keith a moment to remember what he meant.

“Don't worry about it,” he said, and made for the ladder to climb down. It didn't feel right talking at two different levels.

Shiro disentangled himself and dropped down to the floor of the cargo hold.

“I also wanted to say thanks. Again. For getting me out of there.” He made that small laugh again once he was right side up, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess it's good to know the Republic still thinks highly enough of me to send a Jedi to my rescue.”

“Actually...” Keith started, and then stopped. He shut his mouth and swallowed, looking up at Shiro now that they were level.

Shiro was so tall.

Keith took a breath.

“We're going to make for the nearest Republic facility,” he said. “If...that's alright?”

Shiro blinked, pausing with his hand still on the back of his head.

“Y...yeah. Yeah, that's fine.” He lowered his arm slowly, his glance turning aside. Growing distant for a moment's thought.

Keith could see him calculating. Working out how long he'd been gone. Keith's eyes remained trained on Shiro's, watching his face intently, each tiny shift and change. Not realizing he was leaning forward onto his toes to do it.

The questions were there, piling up in the back of his throat. Things he knew he needed to ask. About the mission. About the outpost. Then there were the things he _wanted_ to ask: what had been done to Shiro while he was there? Who were the Galra? Were they the ones responsible for the cybernetic arm and Shiro's collection of scars?

What could he do to help?

Keith felt them piling up like a pressure valve, each inquiry climbing over the other to get out. His fingers curled closed and fidgeted at his sides. He wanted to ask, but could only remember the pained look on Shiro's face when he'd been sitting back in the bunk a short while ago. How tired he seemed. Most likely he'd be bombarded with a line of questioning once they were back in the Republic's ranks. Keith didn't want to subject him to that kind of interrogation twice.

He swallowed hard, and drew another breath, mentally bracing.

When he spoke, what came out was: “Wanna spar?”

That caught Shiro off his guard.

He startled a little, and blinked down at Keith, met with Keith's perfectly serious and intent look back up at him.

“I'm not...sure...that would be a good idea,” he laughed. As gently as possible.

Keith didn't give up.

“Well...then...what about some exercise or training drills? Hunk said something about stasis sickness, and I know there's a proper procedure for getting someone out of those tanks, but we were trying to hurry and I might have missed something and even then there's usually a come-down process and it takes awhile but I know a lot of regimens from the Temple and—”

Shiro laughed again. That small, kind, breathy chuckle.

“You're rambling,” he said gently, his smile there.

Keith shut his mouth. He felt warm up to the tips of his ears.

“But that's probably not a bad idea.”

Keith blew out the rest of his breath, and any more ramblings along with it. He just nodded, and felt his shoulders relax. His hands unclenched.

“Okay,” he breathed.

*****

Pidge was sitting at her console, scrolling through databases, one hand systematically reaching into a bag of snacks without peeling her eyes away from the screen. R0-VR hovered nearby, attentive and occasionally handing her things. Over her shoulder she could hear Lance singing – badly – from the direction of the galley, and on the monitor feed in the top right of her console she kept an eye on Hunk's progress in the engine room. Just in case the tangle of wiring and pipes got the better of him.

Life as usual on board the Blue Lion.

The ship wasn't really big enough to warrant a fully integrated visual monitoring system – it only took a few seconds to get from any one part of the ship to another – but Pidge had the stuff for it lying around and she'd been bored one day, so there it was. She mostly used it as a spot for Hunk and to record some of Lance's dance routines for future blackmail purposes.

Though, just now, a flicker of movement in the feed from the cargo hold caught her eye. She paused what she was doing and highlighted it, enlarging the visuals onto her console's projection.

It was Keith and Shiro, out on the open floor of the hold, standing shoulder to shoulder and moving slowly through a series of identical movements like some kind of mirror game. Pidge arched an eyebrow and munched snacks as she watched. Noting the quick, shy glances between the two of them. The closeness. The absolutely unnecessary amount of touching when one of them – mostly Keith – reached over to make some adjustment. Turning a hand. Touching a back. Rotating a shoulder. Shiro smiled and ducked his head a lot. Keith barely looked at anything else.

R0-VR hovered in close to see and whistled, low and knowing.

“You said it, buddy.” Pidge nodded, resigned as she minimized the feed again to push it back into its corner. “That is exactly what's going on there.”

*****

Shiro was not relaxing.

Keith could see it. The way he moved. Every breath and turn tight with control. The way he kept his hands in close to himself. The way he kept looking down at the floor, like he had to check every step before he took it.

At first Keith thought it was stiffness in his joints. Something he still needed to work out from being in stasis for too long. But...

No.

No, that wasn't it.

“...and you shift your weight between your feet,” Keith mumbled quietly, demonstrating while Shiro followed. Slowly. One stance at a time. “And keep your balance forward...like that...”

Shiro followed, imitating Keith's gestures and movements. He kept up just fine. They could have gone a lot faster.

He was deliberately holding himself back.

Keith didn't like how long it took him to decide on the reason. It was because of the attack in the bunk. Shiro was afraid of himself. Afraid of what he might do. Keith could understand – maybe the arm was still new...and Shiro had to have gotten that collection of scars from doing _something_ – and thought it best not to draw attention to it. It was only Shiro's first day outside of that compound.

Shiro pretended he wasn't tense. Like he wasn't about to break with the slightest increase of pressure around him. He laughed and smiled and joked when he made a mistake. He didn't complain or withdraw or even protest. So Keith went on too like he didn't notice. Keeping his voice low. As gentle as possible.

But the longer it went on...the more Keith watched those rigid lines in him and the tight muscles in his neck, the more he noticed the way Shiro would flinch if he moved too quickly near him, the more Keith wondered if it would be better to just go ahead and throw Shiro around the cargo hold a little. Pin him a few more times. Make Shiro believe that he didn't have to worry about being careful around him. That Shiro wasn't going to hurt him.

Keith didn't do that. He just stayed close. Touching him every excuse he had. Trying to use his presence to reassure and soothe and relax.

It didn't seem to be helping.

Shiro stuttered another apology the third time he stepped on Keith's foot.

“Sorry!”

He moved away a few inches, clearing his throat to drop back to first position. Keith immediately moved closer to him to compensate and did the same.

“This is...uh...” Shiro laughed softly. “...a lot different than what they put us through in basic training. That was mostly running laps and push-ups.”

“Yeah?” Keith prompted, keeping his eyes on him. Encouraging him to talk. Keith liked the sound of Shiro's voice. He liked watching him. “You...trained on Coruscant?”

“For the most part. Once I decided on piloting they moved me out to Sacorria.”

Keith kept the routine going, walking through the steps. Easing one into another. Stretching one way, then bending, the same way he had every day for the majority of his life. He didn't have to concentrate to recall it anymore.

“Do you...have family?” he asked, carefully. “On Coruscant, I mean.”

Shiro hitched in his movements. His eyes fell downcast.

“No,” he said, swallowing hard. “I mean, I do have family. Just...not there.”

“We could contact them once we're back in Republic space? They'll want to know you're alright.”

“Yeah.” Shiro trailed off.

He was looking at his arm.

There was a moment's quiet. They both stopped moving.

“You don't have to go back,” Keith said, very quietly. “If you don't want to.”

Shiro looked up at him like he was startled Keith had suggested it. He closed his cybernetic hand.

“N-No! No. It's not that.” He sighed, and glanced away, evading Keith's eyes. “It's just...thinking about them. I'm not sure they'll recognize me.”

Keith's eyes reached after him. He felt that need to help tug in his chest. Anything he could say. Anything he could do to take that look of pain from Shiro's face. He'd already been through enough.

Keith remembered what he felt back in that lab.

“If you...need time?” he tried. “We could take you somewhere else? You don't have to—”

“No.” Shiro shook his head. Smiling sadly with an air of resolve. “No. I need to go back. The Republic. They need to know.”

“About the Galra?”

Shiro tensed again.

“Yeah.” He spoke slowly, taking a breath. “The things...they were doing...”

Keith nodded.

He paused. Wary.

“What... _were_ they doing?”

Keith winced at the expression that overtook Shiro's face. The way he very nearly full-body cringed. He tried to grab the words back immediately.

“It's okay! You don't have to...”

“I don't...remember much.” Shiro touched a hand to his brow, rubbing it like in the onset of a headache. “Just bits and pieces.”

Keith stepped in close to his side. He put a hand on his shoulder.

Shiro looked at it, and then looked to him. Grateful.

“You know,” he said, taking a breath. Tucking his arms in tight across himself with a dissipating shiver. Even when he hunched, Shiro still looked tall. “When I first saw you, I felt like... I don't know. That I knew you?”

Keith blinked.

“You did?”

“I don't know how to explain it. I think...” Shiro's brow furrowed as he tried to remember. “I think maybe I dreamed a lot. While I was under.”

Keith felt that hot wave over his face again. He was suddenly very self conscious of the fact that he swallowed. Became very aware of his breathing.

“You...dreamed about...me?”

That small laugh again. Quiet and self-deprecating. But Shiro looked at him without apology. Just a certain knowing in the gray of his eyes.

“I think I did,” he said.

Keith's hand tightened on his shoulder.

“No one's ever going to hurt you again!” he said suddenly, overly loud, and emphatic enough that he pushed up onto his toes. As if saying it closer to Shiro's face would make it more true. “I won't let them! We'll finish this mission. Then everything's going to be alright. You're safe now. I promise!”

Shiro all but stumbled back in the face of Keith's ferocity. He raised a placating hand to put on Keith's shoulder in return, laughing gently, pushing him back down to his regular height.

“I know,” he said, patting his reassurance. “I know...I believe you.”

It wasn't meant to be patronizing. Shiro believed every word of it. He believed that look in Keith's eyes. Believed what it meant, and he squeezed his shoulder tight.

“I don't know how, but...you found me. You saved me.”

They stayed that way for a long moment, clasped together, hands on shoulders, a spark struck in the unbroken bond formed between them. A quiet knowledge that nested in the memory they now shared of what Shiro had been through. Something that sealed them together in more than just the physical. Keith felt it.

And, by the look in Shiro's eyes, he felt it too.

“You're the one from my dreams.”

*****

Elsewhere, a ship hovered in orbit over a planet.

It wasn't a large planet. Its ecosystem supported a base amount of life, but it was uninhabited by sentients.

Isolated. Insignificant.

The ship loomed over it like a predator, its shadow a dark marr on the planet's northern hemisphere.

A flicker of light along the ship's edge indicated a power surge. Its tip ignited. A beam fired downward like a shot.

The impact spread like a wave, rippling across the surface.

But, rather than the sort of damage usually caused by orbital bombardment, the only casualty of the planet was to a certain inner light. A sense of life. It flickered, and went out.

Within a few seconds, the surface was dead.

Within an hour, the planet was cold.

In less than what normally would have been the planet's full rotation, it began to break apart. Chunks of bare rock drifted away into space or burned to nothing in the system's central star.

The ship moved on, slipping away silently into the black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...right.
> 
> Soooooooooooooooooo...I am nowhere near done with this AU. (And if you've read this far I am deeply honored and hella flattered.) I plan to continue this story though it will probably be under a different title.
> 
> I guess I'm thinking of this as Episode I?


End file.
